


The Beginning of the Universe

by orphan_account



Category: Ghost in the Shell (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24566719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: What happens when he's ready to leave his body behind for cyberspace.  Mild spoilers for the first two GITS films.
Relationships: Batou/Kusanagi Motoko
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	The Beginning of the Universe

The room was small, decorated with cheap carpeting, cheap light fixtures, and utilitarian metal chairs that Batou figured were probably ordered by the gross. The only thing that really drew his attention was the bulky metal door to the transfer chamber, pressure locked and sealed. 

“Are you ready for this?” 

“I guess,” Batou answered testily, as if it were Togusa’s fault he was half an hour away from the end of the line, and having more doubts than expected. “Damn waiting rooms are getting on my nerves. I’ve lost count of how many they’ve herded us into since we got here.” 

Togusa smiled, deepening the lines around his eyes. The rookie was getting old, Batou realized. His hair had gone silver at the temples, though it was still absurdly long for a straight-shooting by-the-book bastard like Togusa. He probably left it that way out of habit now. The visible ports in the back of his neck were nothing next to the prosthetic forearm he’d had to pick up after the Ghost-Reaper riots back in 2041.

Batou didn’t like to think much about his own physical condition, the withering muscles, the weathering skin. The fit of his prosthetics was getting steadily worse by the month, and his mechanical eyes never seemed as clear as he wanted. He used outdated mechanical components they didn’t make parts for anymore, but he was too comfortable with them to switch for newer ones. The slow, inevitable breakdown didn’t bother him much. He’d known it was coming.

That’s why he’d put his name on the list, the day after the old hound died.

“But are you really ready for this?” Togusa asked again. There was real concern in his face. “And don’t ask me how the kids are again. You know their college entrance scores better than I do.”

Batou chuckled. “I swear you’re trying to pry my last confession out of me. I turned down the priest, remember?”

“Hey, I’ve got to have something to tell Saito and the rest when I get back, or they’ll never let me hear the end of it.” 

Togusa had been appointed head of Section 9 after the old ape finally kicked it. To his credit, the rookie had lobbied for one of the more senior members of Section 9 to take over, but the administration wanted someone more personable, more press-friendly. Togusa, the family man and former cop, fit the bill. Batou didn’t begrudge him the position or the paycheck. It was better than getting stuck with one of the Prime Minister’s lap dogs. 

And all things considered, Togusa hadn’t screwed up too badly yet. Batou had retired last year with few doubts about the future of Section 9. If only the same were true of the past. 

Batou shifted on the cheap metal chair. His joints seemed to creak louder than the hinges as he considered his answer. “There’s nothing left holding me here,” he said at last, “so I don’t see much point in sticking around. I don’t have your kids, or Saito’s protégé, or Ishikawa’s machines. I don’t even have Paz’s damn women.” 

God, how long had it been since he’d had a woman? He could think of a few, over the years, the pretty, curious young things. The ones who were intrigued with the high-end technology, and willing to experiment. And the seasoned, patient ones, who could compensate for his lack of certain functions as he got older. But nobody that held his interest longer than a few pleasant encounters. Nobody who mattered. Not the way she did.

Togusa frowned. “I don’t think it’s a matter of not leaving anything behind. It’s a matter of what’s in front of you. I think you want to find the Major, old man.” No one had ever said it so bluntly. 

Batou shrugged. “Never been a secret, has it? You want to talk me out of it?”

“The Hell I care what you do with your retirement,” Togusa huffed. “I just want you to admit it to yourself.” 

Lengthy investigations confirmed that Matoko Kusanagi was the first human being to permanently cross the border into cyberspace, but she was far from the last. Others followed, in increasing numbers, year after year. The governments of the world finally had to address the issue or risk losing face. 

Publicly, they treated it as a mysterious plague, an unfortunate phenomenon. In secret they studied the process endlessly, sending volunteers into the Net to gather information. Many of the test subjects did not return. Batou had gone over data logs for the experiments a hundred times with Ishikawa. There had been minimal contact made with anyone who left their bodies behind permanently. 

And there had never been any mention of a woman called the Major.

“What if she’s moved on, Batou? It’s been nearly twenty years since the last contact we had with her. What if she’s left cyberspace for somewhere else?” 

There was no answer he could give to that. 

It was ten minutes to the hour. The door swung open. 

+++

Batou remembered the last message she had left him, the self-deleting E-mail that simply gave him an airport locker number and its combination. A cache of files had been left there, detailing the plans of a major cyber-terrorist group that was threatening the stability of the entire region. It had saved their asses in no uncertain terms.

But what had drawn Batou’s attention were the other items, dismissed as junk by the first investigating unit. Included with the files was a woman’s wristwatch and an old, broken doll – a child’s plaything that had been long outgrown. 

Her farewell was abundantly clear. The next day, Batou filled out the paperwork to declare Motoko Kusanagi legally dead, and closed all the outstanding case files on her disappearance. A funeral was arranged, perfunctory and quiet, done only for the sake of propriety. Batou got on with his life.

But he never could stop waiting for her. 

And he didn’t remove his name from the volunteer list, until one day the phone rang, and it was no longer his decision to make.

Batou barely heard the technician’s instructions to keep his focus on the portal once he was on the other side. It would be a deep dive into uncharted innerspace, where the usual monitoring systems didn’t work, and the connections to the physical world became tenuous at best. The software would provide multiple shielding functions, and serve as a safety line, but there was always the possibility of malfunction. The codes to disengage those safeguards, of course, were ready and waiting in Batou’s head. 

He was lying back in a special body rig, only slightly less uncomfortable than the waiting room chairs. He was not strapped down, but Batou still felt restrained, restless. It wasn’t nervousness, he realized, but impatience. 

There were more waivers to sign. Offers of a final drink and a final cigarette, both refused. Togusa stood off to the side in the designated witness area, but well within Batou’s sight. There was a wry smile on his lips, and for a moment he looked a hell of a lot like old Aramaki. 

It would have been a nice moment for philosophical platitudes, but Batou’s memory wasn’t what it was, and he had more important matters to keep in mind.

The whirring hum of machinery signaled the beginning of the connection process. The technician inserted the final jack, sending a short burst of static through his vision. The port would open within seconds. It was now or never.

“You in there, Motoko?” his whispered. He took a breath, one last time.

And his ghost stepped out, into the electronic ether…

Into a sea of light. 

It all fell away, the matter, the decay, the fatigue that he hadn’t known he’d been carrying. The burdens of corporeality faded the farther in he went. A few execution commands, and the safety line snapped. A lifetime of doubt disappeared with it. No more shields, no more counter-dispersion measures. He disengaged everything in reach, ignoring the shrill warnings of the men on the other side. The Net had him now, and there was no turning back.

Within seconds, he felt the effects of unguarded exposure. His ghost was changing, inexorably, being remade into a format compatible with the demands of the system. For a moment he feared losing himself to the pull of the collective, but his ego was strong and stubborn, and his individuality persevered. Batou’s old senses were failing, but they were being replaced by new ones. Different ones. The other subjects had probably fought the rewrite process, but this was what he wanted. 

Because he knew she was here, the instant he had passed through. He knew, once he learned to focus his newborn eyes, he would see her.

The last true sense impression he had was the smell of lithium, sweet as flowers.

The End


End file.
